The Freelancer

By ROBERT ZACKS
Illustrated by ASHMAN
Once these laws were passed, any time in history—however bad—were the good old days!
Jeb was shaken from his bed; his dream told him it was a glacier with wild winds howling laughter, and when he opened his eyes, shivering, he saw his wife, Laurie, had pulled the heat switch off. She stood there glaring. Today her hair was a lovely purple with a fashionable streak of gold starting from the forehead, but it didn't help the cold look on her face.
Get up, you bum, she said in her sweet contralto. Go out and earn some credits or I'll certify you.
The thought of being transferred by the Economy Agent to Assigned Duty Status, with its virtual imprisonment to monotony by the Welfare Office, made Jeb tumble from bed and fumble for his shoes.
My darling, he said placatingly, how beautiful you are this morning! How undeserving I am of you!
You're damn right about that, said Laurie with bitterness. When I think of the men I could have married, the wonderful life I might have lived, instead of scrimping along with a no-good freelance Monitor like you....
Sometimes I do pretty well. Three years ago, I sent you to the Pleasure Palace for a month, remember?
Three years ago. Big deal.
She flounced out of the room. Sadly, Jeb went to the closet and examined the various uniforms and disguises that were part of his equipment as a freelance Monitor. As he selected the silver and black skintight suit of an Air Pollution Inspector, he wistfully remembered how nice it had been when Laurie had smiled at him. Immediately a flood of determination filled him to go out and do big things today. Maybe he would make a big strike and get a nice fat commission; then Laurie would....
The televisor buzzed, flickered, and the genial face of the man from Marriage Relations appeared.